


Helping out a friend

by Rothinsel



Category: More than Meets the Eye - Fandom, Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: NSFW, Other, a cord flashes at some point, dry hump, non-sticky, so a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 15:09:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1006857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rothinsel/pseuds/Rothinsel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pharma visits his "buddy". And demands attention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Helping out a friend

“Blasted gear-munchers! Where are they?! I swear, if I don't find them...”

Pharma leaned against the door, arms crossed on his chassis and one optic ridge raised as he watched the medic nearly trash the little surgery. Datapads were flipped over, chairs moved, equipment scrambled, and the same datapads flipped over again – as if whatever he was searching for would suddenly appear when he wasn't looking. Finally he stopped, back turned to the door. He huffed and then groaned, squeezing his nose bridge in irritation. 

“You looking for something?” The jet asked, casually strolling right into the mess.

“Scalpels, of all things!” Ratchet said. “I know they're useful. That's why every medic has them. But I don't have enough that mechs can take them like free energon goodies!”

“Well, that's what you get for going too easy on your 'patients'--”

“Don't start with that, Pharma. Once they're be back here, and I don't even have the equipment needed to seal up their oozing wounds or--”

“Then they'll die. Hard to learn their lesson then.” Pharma said. The medic turned towards him, frowning, and Pharma simply shrugged. “They're junkies, Ratch. Don't expect them to be good little mechas just because you saved their life. That's the way of the slums. Even I know that.”

“My, you're horribly full of empathy today, aren't you?” Ratchet muttered and went back to the desk to yet again rearrange the chaos there. 

Pharma stood for a moment before clearing his vocalizer, and shifted his legs.  
“Well, perhaps I'm being a little harsh today. I had the whiniest patient in the facility while you were gone--”

“Oh please, tell me about your horrible day! I had a mech with a freshly cut off leg and a regular syphonist that didn't know what to do with his life just few kliks ago!”

“--Some grounder tried to paw at me while I was on my way here, too.” The jet continued, smiling. Ratchet looked at him again, a sudden concern visible in his optics. 

“Did he do anything to you?” He asked, coming closer and looking over the flier's frame. 

“He certainly tried, but I kicked him off,” Pharma said. His fellow medic chuckled at that and Pharma felt his face grow hot. “Maybe I'm not so good at **brawling** like you, but I know where to jab or fry a mech with my thrusters. It keeps me safe enough.”

“Thank those shoulder vents. They keep you wide and tall enough to make you at least look intimidating. I can't see you in close combat after last time.”

“Like I just said--”

“Yeah, yeah, you're fierce and know how to handle yourself.” Ratchet said. 

The jet huffed as his friend waved a hand at him and moved to another corner of the surgery room, opening every toolbox possible. His face returned to its annoyed expression once he didn't find anything there either. Pharma moved to the messy desk, absent-mindedly organizing a few things on it.

“Aren't you jealous that he tried to grope me?” Pharma asked, glancing at the medic. 

Ratchet snorted.  
“Maybe if you actually allowed him to fondle that pert aft... which would be quite a sight, knowing how you snarl when a bot barely fraggin' ogles you.”

Pharma found himself disappointed with that answer. His optics wandered to stare at a nearby wall while his fingers tapped against his own hip. Ratchet finally noticed the silence and snickered at the characteristic look of cold, stubborn hurt.

“Come on, Pharma, you know I'm not the jealous type – unlike you.” Ratchet remarked, coming a bit closer and mimicking the jet's posture. “You know, that syphonist had quite the pretty face for a slums-dweller--” 

The taller flier smirked, though a twitch of the optic betrayed him anyway.  
“And I'm sure he makes some good shanix with that face. Surprising you didn't make a use of it.” He retorted. 

“Now that was just **low** , Pharma.” 

“You started it!” the jet hissed, looking back at the medic only to see him smiling in amusement. The flier flustered, which made Ratchet simply laugh and shake his head. 

“You should know better. I'm here to cure, not 'face patients,” Ratchet reassured, flicking his fingers against the jet's smooth wing. Pharma flinched, embarrassed, as the grounder returned to his search. “Anyway, did you come here to help, or just stand around?” 

The jet perked up and, after a brief moment of hesitation, slowly went up to his comrade. Arms wrapped themselves around the bot's wide midsection, hands briefly caressed the chassis. 

“I came to keep you company. And maybe help.” A yellow canopy scraped gently against white metal. “Just maybe.”

“Is that so? Well, I manage here quite well on my own, but if you'd like to actually learn something, you ought to come more often. As for your company--” Ratchet closed another box, though his irritation seemed to partially evaporate. He glanced down, watching those blue fingers gently brush his seams. 

“Alright, let me make it more clear--,” Pharma said. “I came to keep you company and help with a certain thing. You do seem so stressed recently.”

“And you're just the person to help with that stress, aren't you?” Ratchet asked, as digits travelled down, coyly tracing a bulky codpiece. 

“Mhm, the only person.” Pharma emphasized, and Ratchet just shook his head again at the seeker's possessiveness. 

There was no arguing with him. Well, the medic tried several times, and they spent cycles bickering and bantering, eventually reaching a bitter agreement when witty comebacks finally ended. It often left him with no strength to even mumble. Well, actually, that was possibly because his lip components were simply too numb from pleasuring the jet for what seemed like ages. And Pharma didn't care that his partner's jaw was aching, simply taking charge and riding that sharp glossa, ignoring any half-hearted protests. Or any protests at all, to be honest.

It always took ages to clean his intake from all those fluids. 

“Yeah, maybe,” Ratchet replied nonchalantly, grinning at the sound of growling, jealous engines. He yelped, pushed forward onto the table by eager, blue hips and spun around in the lose grip that Pharma had on him. “Oh no you don't! Not in my OR! I'll show you thrusting...” 

Pharma chuckled mirthfully once he got all the attention he wanted. That delighted sound soon turned into keening, and only occasionally, joyous cackling that mixed with Ratchet's groaning.  
There was no interfacing, but it could be more than boldly called a preparation for it. Ratchet on top of the jet, his turbine loudly scraping against the floor while codpieces collided. Growing charges made sparks pop and fizz between them encouragingly. Pharma panted, holding onto his friend, meeting thrust to thrust, hips moving in a fluid, rhythmic manner that finally made Ratchet actually moan. 

“Anyone else who'd help you like that?” the jet asked, visibly pleased with the situation, his voice shaky and optics hazy.

“Hnn—few people maybe—unnh~!” Pharma pushed up fiercely with a frustrated snarl. The grounder's panel snapped back, exposing an eager cord which continued to rub against the jet. However, the seeker's movement stilled abruptly.

“What's wrong—no, don't you do that!” Ratchet ground his hips into Pharma, but his partner remained unmoved, his optics looking to the side and lips pressed into a thin line. “I'm just teasing, you dolt!” 

Pharma turned into a slab of metal, no matter how the medic nibbled his neck cables or rocked against his hips. Ratchet finally sighed, giving up. 

“Come on, don't go passive-aggressive on me. You know I can't stop thinking about those damn wings, or those sounds you make,” Ratchet said, pressing his length against a burning-hot codpiece. Pharma frowned at the sigh that escaped from his own vents. “Yeah, that's one of them. You think I have time to think about someone else while I can still taste you on my damn glossa? Think I wouldn't punch that mech for pawing that sleek plating?” 

Pharma finally smirked, optics bright when Ratchet leaned down to mould their lips together, spark fluttering at the intensity of the kiss. It was followed by few more pecks, surprisingly gentle and affectionate. But they were not yet enough to break him. 

“You'll have to prove it.” Blue hips rolled. “In your quarters.”

“Frag it to the pits.” Ratchet crawled off the jet, forcing his panel to close. “Fine, just let me find those blasted scalpels--”

“Just above your desk. Top shelf. Idiot, you can't even manage this place on your own--” The flier got a slap on the hip and an angry glare. 

“You better stop writhing on my floor and get ready for a well-deserved pounding.”

Pharma smiled triumphantly, dusting off as he got up.

**Author's Note:**

> A gift for a friend<3 Many thanks to Grey Liliy for proofreading!


End file.
